


Saint and Sinner

by LadyFrehley



Category: KISS (US Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Attempted Conversion, Derogatory Language, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Paul Stanley, Self-Hatred, Sexual Orientation Issues, Shower Sex, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-10-18 13:08:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20639675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyFrehley/pseuds/LadyFrehley
Summary: Paul wishes he was something he’s not, and the rockstar is at his wit’s end with useless therapy and a lover who believes he can do no wrong. Can he overcome his guilt and finally accept who he is?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You're a saint, I'm a sinner but deuces are wild~

“My name’s Pau-...Stan. Stan Eisen...I’m thirty years old, I’m from Queens, and I’m...I _think_ I’m...” I look around the room at the few other people that have shown up. They watch me nervously twiddle my fingers, the psychologist sat at the head of the circle holding his clipboard and pen, eyeing me expectingly. I can’t bring myself to say it. 

“You’re what?” Doctor Andrews asks. I feel everyone’s stares burning a hole in my face and the pressure is almost unbearable. I’ve never felt so anxious in my life. 

I gulp, “bisexual.”

“Well, welcome, Stan.” He writes something down on his clipboard, and I start to sweat. A guy about my age whose name I don’t remember is still staring at me from the other side of the circle.

_What if he recognizes me?_

That’s _all_ I need. Waking up tomorrow morning with my name all over the papers; KISS guitarist Paul Stanley found attending gay affirmative psychotherapy group. I can’t even imagine what my parents would say. Or what I’d say in return. ‘Yeah, sorry, ma, it’s true. Your son likes dick.’ _Yeah right..._

“Well, you obviously all know why you’re here.” Doctor Andrews addresses us after jotting down some secret about me. I _need_ to know what he wrote. Probably ‘disastrous bi’ like Ace is always calling me. “Being gay isn’t a mental disorder like they’d have you believe. Accepting and embracing our identities is a key component to recovery, and remember, this is a judgement-free zone. We’re all here for the same thing.” 

_We?_ I furrow my brow. This guy’s probably as straight as an arrow, in his 40s with a wife and kids, and yet he has the _nerve_ to preach to us about accepting ourselves as gay? As he rambles on about acceptance, I zone out and think about the reason I’m here. The very same reason I attempted this shit the first time round in the early 70’s. 

_Ace. _

Our lead guitarist is _extremely_ open about and comfortable with his sexuality, but he didn’t have to drag me down with him. I don’t _want_ to be this way, and he knows that, he knows I hate what I am. It pains me to admit I’m in love with another man. I feel _filthy_. I feel naughty, like I’m doing something illegal, and two years ago, it _would_ have been, but Ace doesn’t care. He was doing this long before it was made legal. He doesn’t care that I feel guilty. In his eyes, he can do no wrong. He’s a saint and I’m a sinner. 

“I’ve been uh...” I look around the room and then back at my lap, “having sex...with my friend...for about two years now. And I just...” I feel tears sting my eyes, but I force them back. These people don’t need to know I’m a wimp as well as a fruit. 

“I just feel so..._dirty_...whenever we do it. Like I’m doing something wrong. I feel ashamed. But to him it’s like..._normal_. I don’t feel _normal_.” 

“You _are_ normal, Stan.” Doctor Andrews assures me, and although I don’t agree, I nod, still staring down at my lap. He goes on, using big words like ego-dystonic and social stigmatization, and my head’s spinning. I don’t understand, and I’m not sure any of these other people do either. 

“You’re at odds with your ideal self-image.” He tells me, “You’ve grown up believing and telling yourself that being straight is the only appropriate way to be, and that’s just not true.”

The guy that was staring at me tells his story next, about how he’s on the brink of killing himself because of his orientation and conflict with his family. I feel like I’m in hell listening to these people, lying to them in return about who I am. If they only knew the ‘womanizing starchild’ was sat before them, at his wit’s end and nearly crying his eyes out over his sexuality, they’d probably laugh in my face. But here we sit, all sad and out of options, and it’s depressing. I want to go home.

“Well,” Doctor Andrews glances at his watch after half an hour, “I believe that’s the end of this week’s session. You all did wonderfully. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

I can’t get out of the room faster. I’m the first out, and I speed walk to my car as snow falls around me. As I cross the parking lot, I start to feel the tears I held back from before, and a hand grabs my shoulder. I turn around and it’s the guy who was staring at me..._Harold, I want to say?_

“You were really brave today, Stan.” He doesn’t smile, he just looks into my eyes. I think he wants something from me, and even though he _is_ attractive, I’m not interested. I already have a partner. I’m ashamed to say, just to _think_, that I have a male lover. When I admitted to those complete strangers that I have indeed had sex with another man, I just wanted the earth to swallow me up then and there.

“Thanks.” I look down, aware of my lisp, and I blush. Peter was right, you can tell I’m not straight just by _looking_ at me, and it becomes even more apparent when I talk. I didn’t want to believe him, but now...

“I know you have a boyfriend,” Harold sighs, and I go to correct him because I’m not sure I can or _want_ to call Ace that, but he continues, “but I just want to say you’re really beautiful.” I feel myself blush harder and I’m suddenly very uncomfortable, instinctively tugging at my turtleneck sweater. Luckily, he changes the subject.

“I’ve heard about this...reparative therapy...conversion therapy...in Manhattan. I think I’m gonna give it a shot...’Cause I can’t take this shit anymore...They’re not fooling anyone. It  _is_ a mental disorder. There’s no hope for people like us.”

_People like us._ Even though there was a group of us all with the same issue, when this guy says that one sentence, I feel so alone. My eyes widen when he suddenly kisses my cheek, and I watch in shock as he walks to his car. 

My eyelids grow heavy. I’m so tired. _Exhausted_, both mentally and physically, and I just want to go back to my apartment and be alone.

I get in my Porsche but I don’t switch the engine on. I just sit there and think about what was said. _Conversion therapy_...I’ve heard about it before. I heard it in conversation when Ace got hammered in the hotel room a few years ago. He was mocking it after Peter read about it in the paper, laughing and joking in his usual manner. I laughed too, and I never gave it a second thought until now. 

Maybe it’s my last chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I offer you some dreadfully written shower sex in these trying times?

I pull up to my apartment through the quickly building up snow, the Manhattan traffic delaying my arrival by at least thirty minutes. I spent most of that time drowning out the beeping car horns and my racing thoughts with my cassette of Journey’s _Escape_, banging my fist on the wheel in frustration when I started to cry.

** _One love feeds the fire_ **  
** _ One heart burns desire_ **  
** _ I wonder who's crying now_ **

It’s times like this I’m thankful I never asked Ace to move in with me, because if he were here now, I’d ask him to leave immediately. I don’t even want to _speak_ to him, let alone see him. The shame is just too much, and all I want to do is get in bed under the covers and hide.

** _Two hearts born to run_ **  
** _Who'll be the lonely one_ **  
** _I wonder who's crying now_ **

I stick the key into the keyhole and open my apartment door, breathing a deep sigh of relief.

_Alone at last._

I’m freezing, so much so that my nose is almost running, and instead of going to my bed like I originally planned, I head for the bathroom to run a nice, hot bath.

Opening the bathroom curtains so I can watch the snow fall, I suddenly hear a noise from outside the closed door. I freeze, my eyes wide as I turn my head. My apartment’s big, but there’s not a lot of places to hide, so if a fan somehow learned where I live and snuck in, she’d have a pretty hard time concealing herself. Part of me hopes it’s a girl, because sex right about now sounds pretty good, but I’m really not in the mood for company either.

It’s silent for a while, so I continue in my attempt to run a bath.

“Fuck!” The handle for hot water is jammed, and I curse when I can’t get it to move.

_Great. Just what I need._

Out of options, I turn the shower on and begin to strip. Peter used to make fun of me for getting naked with the window open, but I beg to differ. I’ve lost quite a bit of weight since then, and the citizens of New York should be so lucky to catch a glimpse.

Once stripped down, I step into the shower. The water is delicious, hot as it rolls down my skin, steam soon filling up the room. It feels like ecstasy. I can finally relax, and for a moment all my problems seem to fade away…until I start thinking about Ace. Impure thoughts about my bandmate quickly clog my brain, and I begin to hear voices.

I hear the club bouncers from 1974 calling me a fag. I hear the disappointed tone in my parents’ voice when they tell me I’m not turning out how they wanted. I hear the kids at school calling me a deformed monster. I hear Ace telling me I can hope and pray as hard as I want to be straight but it’ll never happen.

The water masks my tears, but they’re still there. I can feel them leaving my eyes, and I lean my head against the wall, squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to stop them. Maybe Ace is right. Maybe there’s no use in trying, pretending to be something I’m not. He’s a smart guy despite what most would think, and usually I’d listen to whatever advice he had, but this time, I’m not sure...

My wet curly hair falls in my face, and as my thoughts about Ace worsen, my hand instinctively runs down my stomach to my crotch. There’s no girl here, so I gotta make do with myself. I go to grab my cock, but a loud shriek escapes my mouth when I feel a hand grab my ass instead. I turn around, and it’s fucking _Ace_, also stripped naked with a wide grin on his face.

“Ack!”

“_ACE!_ What the fuck!?” Is all I can say, backing against the wall and clutching at my rapidly beating heart.

_How the fuck did he get in here?_

Then I remember, I gave him a spare apartment key when I moved in.

_Nice going, Paul._

“You nearly gave me a fuckin’ heart attack! What’re you doing here!?”

“What are _you_ doin’, curly?” He gazes down at my half-erect cock with that stupid smile. Of all times, he couldn’t have waited to intrude until _after_ my shower? I don’t even know how to react. That’s how it is being Ace’s lover; there’s never a dull moment, and nothing really surprises me anymore. I could’ve gotten angry and knocked him out, but he’d still come back for more. He’s like herpes; he won’t go away.

“Takin’ a shower…” I look away, the awkwardness of the situation only intensifying. Really, I should be used to him invading my privacy after two years. I let out a shaky exhale when he steps closer, unable to look him in the eye as he lets the water pour over the both of us.

“That didn’t look like all you were doin’, girlie.”

“Ace…I’m not in the mood…” After today, after that horrendous therapy session, I don’t think having sex with Ace will ever be the same. ‘It’s not right’ I tell myself. ‘It’s not natural’. I want to tell him to get out, but the sight before me makes my heart skip a beat. The hot water trickles down his flawless skinny body, his recently cut shoulder length black hair falling against his forehead in a wet mess, his eyes half-lidded and mouth open slightly, drinking me in. He’s hard to resist.

I repeat myself, “I’m not in the moo-…” but he closes the space between us, kissing my neck and cutting me off, making me lose all self-control.

“Don’t tell me it ain’t right, Paulie…” He kisses upward until he reaches the corner of my mouth. It’s like he’s reading my mind, my thoughts screaming ‘this isn’t right’ over and over again like a broken record player, getting louder and louder with every move Ace makes. “Do you love me?” He whispers, our lips almost touching. I nearly forget how to breathe, his boner pressing against mine and his hands cupping the sides of my face. He grins when I nod. “_Really_ love me?” I nod again, and he smiles against my lips, “Good.”

Ace wastes no time kissing me. He grabs my ass with one hand, lifting me up slightly and wrapping my leg around his waist with the other. I struggle to breathe again when the kisses become sloppy, but neither of us can really see with the water running down our faces. I don’t really care anymore. I’m just wallowing in his touch, needing and wanting with everything in my being for him to be inside me.

I start to hear slapping noises, and I can tell what he’s doing without even opening my eyes. He has us both in one hand, pumping up and down, the friction and rapid tapping of the water against my cock creating a sensation I’ve never felt before, one I never want to stop feeling.

I moan in frustration when he lets go after only a few seconds, and he giggles when I cross my arms. “Drama queen. Ahh, there we go.” Ace reaches up to the little shelf above us and grabs a tube of lubricant, a tube of lubricant I was hoping to use with a lady friend, not my fuckin’ _bandmate_.

He squirts some into his hand and coats his long cock, not breaking eye contact with me, and I swear I feel my soul leave my body. He’s gorgeous in every sense of the word, and I’m nearly sent over the edge just staring into his dark brown orbs.

“Ace…_please_…” My mouth drops open when he pulls my cheeks apart, and I feel his tip poke my entrance.

_This isn’t right._

“Please _what_, poodle?” He whispers in my left ear, and I whine in response. I hate when he teases me, but it’s what he’s best at.

“I’m not gonna say it…” I’m too ashamed, too embarrassed to beg him to fuck me til I can’t walk. I can tell this pisses him off by the skewed frown he gives me. I’m ruining the mood, but he doesn’t understand. Ace has no qualms about fooling around with guys. I _do_.

“Say it, Paulie.” He presses harder so that the tip is almost inside me, and I gasp loudly, biting my lip. I’m panting and starting to sweat, forcing myself to stay quiet and not give him the satisfaction. He inches in, the head of his cock entering me, and I can’t take it anymore.

“Oh _god_, daddy, fuck me. _Please_.” I’m disgusted with myself, but there’s no turning back now.

He lets out a sweet giggle and kisses me softly, “I’d hoped you’d say that.” The tender moment is broken by Ace suddenly thrusting upward, and I throw my head back, crying out so loud they can probably hear me down the hall.

“You sound like a chick, dear.” He chuckles, brushing a strand of wet hair out of my face. I’m pretty sure he’s making fun of me, but I don’t retaliate. I just want this over with so I can curl up in bed and internally berate myself.

I tighten my hold around his waist with my leg as he thrusts at a steady pace, and it’s almost…_romantic_. Not that that makes me feel any better, but I need it faster and rougher. I’m not in the mood for romance, especially with another man, and with the speed he’s going, we’ll be here _forever_.

“F-faster…” A few drops of water fall into my mouth as Ace takes both of my hands in his, pinning them against the wall at the sides of my head and interlacing our fingers. He’s still going pretty slow, and I’m getting desperate and irritated. “I said go _faster_…W-why are you doing this?”

Ace kisses me, pulls away, and looks me dead in the eye, “’Cause Donna can’t make you feel this way.” I narrow my eyebrows, and anger quickly takes over. Ace knows all about my girlfriend, but he’s never mentioned her until now. She means _everything_ to me, and I’m almost tempted to slap Ace for questioning her, but the pleasure is fogging my brain so much I can hardly think straight. “She can’t make you feel as good as I can.” He sounds almost jealous, kinda like how I was jealous when he got married in ’76. He didn’t give a shit then, so why should I give a shit _now?_ He can be as jealous as he wants! I humph at him. It feels good to be in the driver’s seat this time. “S-stop usin’ her as a shield, Paulie…” He leans in before whispering against my lips, “Ya not foolin’ anyone.” I go to retort but he kisses me, his tongue soon slipping into my mouth.

As Ace quickens his pace, I stare down at him, furious and hating him for even _insinuating_ such a thing. He’s turning into everyone else who's ever met me, even those who _haven’t_ and just write what they _hear_ about me. The amount of papers I’ve read on me seeking affirmation in attractive girls, masquerading my sexuality behind playboy playmates…It’s like it’s me against the world. Maybe people see something I don’t? And then what Ace said sinks in, and it makes me feel sick to my stomach.

_I’m not fooling anyone._

Ace buries his face in my neck, panting and thrusting up into me harder. He curses under his breath, “You f-fuckin’ love cock, Paulie. Just admit it.”

I’ve been trying to hold in any noises or signs that I’m enjoying myself, but it’s becoming harder and harder by the second, especially with the dirty talk. Ace slams into my prostate and I can’t help but cry out. He’s right; sex with Donna is good, but it’ll never match up to my stubborn, well-endowed bandmate. “Can _Donna_ do that? Huh, Paulie? Does she make you feel this good?”

I’m on the brink of climax, almost unable to speak as Ace waits for an answer.

“DOES SHE MAKE YOU FEEL THIS GOOD?” He raises his voice, and I nearly jump in surprise. Ace _never_ yells at me, but it’s quite a turn on in this situation, although I’m sure that’s not what he’s intending. I’m probably pissing him off still refusing to admit I _do_ love cock. _His_ cock.

“NO!” I scream, squeezing my eyes shut and clenching around him. “PLEASE, DADDY!” My embarrassment and shame go right out the window, and I no longer care who hears my pathetic moaning. I whine at my neglected cock, but Ace doesn’t stop pinning my hands against the wall. Instead, he grinds against it with his stomach. I don’t know about him, but I can’t last much longer.

“F-FUCK, PAULIE.” Ace’s mouth opens, and he looks so angelic as he finally cums inside me in hot spurts. I completely forget about Donna at that moment, focusing only on Ace and myself and how what we’re doing feels like pure bliss.

“Keep going, keep going.” I beg, “I’m almost there, baby.”

He’s out of breath, but he continues thrusting until my panting grows quicker and quicker and turns into an embarrassing sob, pleading for release.

It’s too much. I unload on both of our stomachs, but it’s immediately washed away by the water, wiping away any evidence that I let Ace humiliate me and fuck me like some slut. I feel him pulsating inside me as my orgasm dies down, and suddenly all the shame and guilt comes back. I rest my head against the wall and sigh as Ace drops my hands and turns the shower off. Our heavy breathing fills the room, and it sounds almost beautiful in a way. I always thought we sounded good together onstage. He pulls out, making me gasp, and I immediately go back to hating myself.

Ace leaves the shower, pulling on my purple bathrobe and wrapping me in a fluffy towel, tracing kisses along my jawline and cradling me in his arms on the couch. I know he loves me, and I love him, but this just isn’t right. How _can_ it be right? Two _men?_

I don’t want to, but it occurs to me that I need to go back to my therapy group. I wasn’t planning on returning, but I have questions that need answering, questions that’re burning inside me, tearing me apart as Ace showers me in love.

I rest my head against his bare chest as he strokes my wet hair, terrified beyond belief that people, that _Donna_, will find out about my affair with Ace. I can’t put her through that. She wouldn’t do that to _me_. I love her with all my heart, but I love Ace, too. Only one of these romances is right, though, and I think I know which one I need to put a stop to once and for all.

“Love you, poodle.” Ace gently kisses my forehead. He can’t see the single tear that rolls down my face, and I whisper, fearing that there’s someone else listening to us, learning my dirty little secret.

“Love you, too...”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better wake up, it's break up, I ain't got the time~

I almost felt my heart stop when Ace told me he was leaving the band. It was like a dagger in my heart. You tell me you love me and now you're _leaving?_ Betrayal, abandonment, deception…I could think of a million words for what he’s doing to not just me, but to KISS. The announcement came without warning, and while the guys have moved on from it, I’ve spent my days panicking and crying over it.

A life once filled with glitz and glamour, parties and groupies galore, is now consumed by lying in bed til ungodly hours, attending the practically useless therapy group, and avoiding other people, including my friends and those who love me. The band's popularity is declining, and to say I’m exhausted from endless business meetings with Gene in attempt to revive our reputation and being Ace’s emotional support after his car accident, is a _huge_ understatement. I’ve spent every waking moment begging him to stay, and although he isn’t leaving until Christmas, nine months from now, I don’t think he’ll be changing his mind anytime soon. Nobody’s getting through to him. Poor Eric’s tried, Gene’s assured him it’s not good for business, and I’ve cried to him that I’ll _die_ without him…but no luck.

I sit on the couch, my eyelids heavy as I stare at the carpet, waiting for the interview to end. I wasn’t exactly thrilled when Gene told me MTV wanted to talk to us, especially after all that’s happened. They expect the starchild to be all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, full of life and sex appeal--the leader of the band, but I can hardly see straight from lack of sleep. If I wasn’t crammed between Gene and Ace, I would’ve fallen over and passed out by now.

“I have a question for Paul.”

Gene nudges me with his armour, one of the spikes poking me through my jacket, and I become aware the interviewer’s been talking to me and I didn’t even know. I shake my head, snapping myself out of whatever trance I was in. He asks about touring in America after three years, and I ramble in response. It’s always _me_ who takes control during interviews, who answers all the hard questions, who has to keep up appearances and play mother hen. I’ve been rubbing and patting Ace’s back this whole time, trying to comfort him, when who _really_ needs comforting is myself.

I feel the people around us staring holes in me as I talk, concerned looks on their faces, like they can tell something’s wrong. I can almost hear their thoughts.

_‘Oh, man. Paul’s really out of it…Poor guy.’_

_‘What is he talking about?’_

_‘Look at him pretending to be something he’s not. Pathetic.’_

“Rock n roll is a universal language...It has nothing to do with English or French…or any group or language…Rock n roll speaks its own…” I forget my words, and I just stare blankly at the interviewer. My brain’s finally burnt out and stopped working, and on live television, too.

Luckily, Gene comes to my rescue. “Tongue.”

“Tongue.” I repeat, and let out a nervous chuckle. My thoughts soon shift to Donna. I miss her so bad. I’m not constantly on edge around her, not constantly fearing that people are listening in on us. I wish she was here. Instead, I’m sat next to my secret gay lover and my none the wiser bandmates.

The interviewer moves on to Ace, and as I listen to him speak, I realize how tired he sounds, too. No bubbly, outrageous spaceman cracking jokes. He uses a quiet tone I’ve never heard before, and it breaks my heart. He sounds drained, and I can smell the alcohol on him. There’s been a few laughs, but I’m sure MTV is disappointed by us. This has hardly been a lively appearance.

“Paul, you’ve been doing a lot of guitar playing. Has it been evolving over the past few years?” I wish this guy would give me a break. He’s hardly spoken to Gene or Eric. I struggle to comprehend his question, even more to come up with an answer.

“I think that kinda stuff has to happen…If you’ve been playing the guitar for a long time, the more you play, the better you get…And I guess at this point, whoever fits the song better is the guy that winds up playing the leads…”

Ace nudges me and winks, “Like sex.” He erupts into a fit of laughter, and I blush redder than a tomato underneath my white face paint. I start to panic, my eyes darting around the room at all these people. They're judging me. I _know_ they are. Ace has just potentially confessed our secret to the world, but I force a smile for the cameras. They don’t know me and my bandmate have been fucking like rabbits, hiding a secret relationship from both the media and our friends for over two years! It’s like Ace just snapped and decided to out us! I need this interview over with. I need to knock some sense into him and then hide in my apartment for the rest of my life.

It’s another _long_ fifteen minutes before this awkward interview finally ends, and I’m the first to go. I’ve been holding in tears, frustration, and laughter, and they all seem to hit me at the same time as soon as I leave the room. I chuckle and shake my head. I want to bang it against the wall. _This is it._ I’m _finally_ going insane. At that moment, I picture myself in a straitjacket behind a cell, laughing away like a lunatic.

I wait for Ace outside the door, ready to rip his head off, ready to unleash hell onto his drunk ass. He stumbles right past me with a bottle of beer in hand that he'd obviously been hiding. I gawk at him. It's like I’m not even here! I grab his arm and drag him to the dressing room, locking the door behind me.

I almost slam him into the wall, “What the _fuck_ is wrong with you?! You just gave us away, dumb ass! Don’t you _think_ before you speak?!”

“Paulie, you need to take a chill pill.” He smirks, “I didn’t give away jack shit.” He takes a swig of beer, and in a fit of anger, I slap the bottle out of his hand, astounded with myself and immediately regretting it. Ace looks surprised, but he doesn’t retaliate.

“I’m not your fucking mother, Ace!”

“What _are_ you then, Paulie?” He looks me up and down, “Oh! I know! _IN DENIAL.” _

“I am _NOT_ in denial! I’m straight and you just made us look like we’re sleeping together! What if Donna finds out, you idiot?!”

“I wonder if that’s because we _ARE_ sleeping together, Paul! Y'know, I'm pretty damn sick of hearin' about your Donna!” He raises his voice, and it startles me. “_FUCK_ DONNA. SHE’S JUST A LITTLE MASK FOR YOU TO HIDE BEHIND. YOU’RE A _FAG_, PAUL. ACCEPT IT.”

I’m beyond shocked that he used that word, beyond shocked that he’s yelling in my face. I’m sure people can hear us, including Gene and Eric. I’m terrified, but I yell right back.

“YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I AM. YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M _FEELING_.” I poke him in the chest, “YOU’RE JUST A JEALOUS, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DRUNK LIKE GENE SAYS. JEALOUS LIKE I WAS JEALOUS WHEN YOU MARRIED JEANETTE. AND YOU DIDN’T GIVE A FLYING _FUCK_. WELL NOW IT’S _MY_ TURN, ASSHOLE.” I’m furious; I can’t help myself. I tell him what I’m planning on doing, and it feels so good and so bad at the same time, “I’M GONNA MARRY DONNA. HOW D’YA LIKE THAT? WE’RE _OVER_, ACE.”

And then the unbelievable happens. My eyes widen and I gasp when Ace raises his hand to slap me. I flinch, covering my face like a scared child. He’s never laid a hand on me in our two years together. In fact, he’s never laid a hand on me the entire time we’ve _known_ each other. I’ve seen him and Peter go at it like wild animals numerous times, punching faces, pulling hair, throwing the nearest object…but I was _never_ the target. I must have really struck a nerve with him to make him change his mind.

I peek from behind my hand after a few seconds, quivering in fear, confused as to why he hasn’t hit me yet. He’s frozen in place, teeth grit and eyes filled with anger, eyes that used to look at me with nothing but love and adoration.

I only see hatred and disappointment now.

He sighs and lowers his hand, a look of defeat on his face. I’m overwhelmed. I can’t think straight, and my only instinct is to do what I do best; _cry_. I sink to the floor and sob. I don’t even look at Ace when he speaks to me. All I can see are his silver boots through the cracks of my fingers.

“Y’know, Paul, you really are one fuckin’ sandwich short of a picnic basket thinkin’ you can keep up this ‘straight’ bullshit. You’re _deluded_ is what you are.” There’s not a hint of humour in his tone. I’ve never heard him sound so serious in his life. "You poor paranoid bastard..."

“_I_. _Love_. _Donna_.” I almost force the words out of my mouth. I _do_ love Donna, but the man standing before me…he’s my best friend…my inspiration…my soul mate…my _everything_.

“Whatever, Paul. Few more months and I’ll be outta your hair for good.” He turns around, “Enjoy spendin’ the rest of your life bein’ miserable.”

He leaves the room, and Eric and Gene immediately walk in. They must have heard all of that, and I’ve never been so embarrassed.

“Paul? What happened?!” Eric runs over and bends down next to me, but I just continue to bawl into my hands. He wraps his arms around me and holds me while Gene stands at the doorway, staring in confusion. He must be so ashamed of the person he's called his brother for over ten years.

I cry into Eric’s shoulder, and as he pets my hair and tells me it’ll be alright, I wonder if there’s a way out of this.

I can't do this anymore. 


	4. Chapter 4

I draw the curtains to my bedroom window, the sunlight almost blinding me after hours of darkness in my lonely apartment. Snow is softly falling outside, and I exhale, taking in the view. Today’s the day. I’m gonna ask Donna to be my wife.

A smile stretches across my face, but in a way, it feels forced. I hardly slept last night, too busy ripping up Polaroids of me and Ace, snapping bracelets he bought me and tossing that golden necklace I once loved with the word ‘sexy’ dangling from it in the trash. I want everything to do with Ace gone and out of my life.

I’m planning on proposing later at dinner, and the thought makes my heart sing. I can see it now, getting on my knees in front of Donna, looking into her big, beautiful, blue eyes, and holding out the 14k princess cut ring before proclaiming my eternal love to her. She’ll say yes and kiss me while the people in the restaurant applaud, and we’ll be happy together. I know we will.

I reach for the phone to make sure she’s still on for tonight, dialing her number as quickly as my fingers will go. I can’t wait to hear her voice after all the shit that’s happened recently. As the phone rings, I stare at a torn in half Polaroid on the floor near my right foot. Ace and I are in our makeup, and he’s got his arms around me, grinning and kissing my cheek. Ace was plastered that night, but we were happy, happy and in love without a care in the world as Peter snapped the photo. That was nearly seven years ago, but as I study it, it feels like only yesterday. Tears well up in my eyes at the ripped up memory, and I turn away, unable to look at it any longer.

“Hello?” Someone on the other end picks up, but it’s not Donna. In fact, it’s a _man_. Maybe it’s one of her agents? A housekeeper?

“…Hi, is Donna there? It’s Paul…her boyfriend.” The man is silent, and then I hear muffling like he’s covered the phone with his hand. There’s faint whispering, and then he returns.

“Uh, she’s outta town right now. Can I take a message?”

I don’t know what to say. She never told me she was leaving…Maybe it was an emergency? I’m gutted because I won’t get to propose tonight, and confused by this random man, but I don’t question him. I just wanna know where my girl is.

“Well…do you know when she’ll be back?”

He pauses again, “…No, sorry.”

The more I think about it, the more the voice sounds familiar to me, but I can’t put my finger on it. I sigh, “Ok, thanks” and hang up. My decent mood is ruined, and as I eye the clock on the wall, I remember I have therapy group in thirty minutes. I wanna skip today’s session, but considering my plans have been ruined and I have nothing else to do, I really ought to go.

I eye my car out the window. It’s covered in snow, and I’m not exactly in the mood to clean it off, so the subway it is.

Thank god nobody recognizes me on the train. I hide behind a pair of sunglasses and my coat hood, closing my eyes and waiting for the ride into the Bronx to be over. It’s likely the only bit of rest I’ll get all day. I feel so…_deflated_. Like the joy’s been sucked out of me. No Ace, no Donna. Just me, myself, and I like it always has been and always will be.

The train finally pulls to a stop, and we all shuffle out like a flock of sheep. As I walk out the station and onto the street, I begin to wonder why I even bother coming to these meetings. I’ll never change. No one can _make_ me change. I don’t _want_ to change. What I want is to live a normal life with Donna, to throw my sexuality back under the rug and ignore it as hard as I can. I can hear Ace calling me a paranoid bastard, deluded, in denial…but he’s out of the picture now. He’s not weighing me down anymore. I don’t have to hear the truth being spewed at me like venom anymore.

I’m a little late to the session, but they haven’t started without me.

“Ah, Stan.” Doctor Andrews acknowledges me as I walk through the door to my seat. I remove my jacket and sit down, pursing my lips and looking around the room. Everyone’s here except for one.

“Now that you’re all here, I have some rather…sad news to share.” He sighs, his voice quiet and dejected. “Harold is no longer with us.”

Huh. I guess the conversion therapy worked after all. Maybe there _is_ hope for me.

“He jumped in front of a train yesterday in Kingsbridge Road.”

I suddenly feel my blood turn cold. There’s utterances of ‘oh my god’ from the other group members, and I cover my mouth in shock, lost for words. The guy who kissed my cheek…is _dead?_ I can’t even begin to imagine how lost he must have felt, how completely hopeless he must have been to resort to that. One of the women starts crying, and even though I hardly knew Harold, I feel like crying, too.

Am I gonna end up like him?

The session feels like hours, and once it finally finishes, I take the subway back to Manhattan. All I want is to talk to someone. Someone I care about. But with Ace no longer speaking to me and Donna supposedly out of town, I’m pretty screwed. I don’t wanna end up like Harold, but sometimes I wonder if it really _is_ the only way out. Sometimes I wonder if it’s the only way to escape the pain. There’d be no more exhaustion, no more confusion, no more pressure from the media and the fans to hide my identity. It’s either conversion or I lose Donna, or worse, my _life_.

After considering my options on the train, I take a last minute detour to Donna’s apartment on Central Park West. I wanna know who the hell the guy that picked up the phone was, and I wanna know who he was whispering to. Something’s not right here and I’m gonna find out what.

I stand at the extravagant front door with a hand raised, ready to knock, but I feel paralyzed. I can’t do it. I’m so nervous, wondering what psycho’s gonna answer the door with Donna’s mangled corpse in the background, or if nobody will answer at all, still leaving me clueless to the situation. Anything could happen. Freezing cold and shivering, I force myself to finally knock.

_Nothing._

I knock again, “Donna? Donna, it’s Paul!”

_Nothing._

“Baby?”

I sit on her doorstep for probably fifteen minutes, watching as busy New Yorkers pass by, getting on with their lives while I’m here longing to turn back time. I guess she really _is_ gone. I give up, fumbling inside my coat pocket and pulling out the little blue Tiffany box I’ve been carrying around all day. Inside is Donna’s engagement ring, and I give it one last look before carefully slipping it through the letterbox. Hopefully when she returns, she’ll see it and call me immediately with an ecstatic answer of ‘Yes! Of course I’ll marry you, Paul!” But right now, I’m questioning it. With a disappointed sigh, I turn and head for my apartment.

* * *

I feel disgusted with myself as I place the phone back on its base. I scheduled an assessment for next week. I asked what it would involve, and the person on the other end of the line, in a straightforward and gloomy tone, informed me it could be anything from psychoanalysis to _electric shock_. It scared me, made the hairs on my arms stand up, but I’m willing to try anything. Screw Ace. I’m gonna be straight whether he likes it or not. He’ll see.

I pick up the phone again and dial Donna’s number. If that man answers again I’m gonna let him have a piece of my mind. Maybe I _am_ being paranoid, but my mind can’t and won’t rest until I know for sure there’s not some stranger in my girl’s house.

It rings and rings and rings, and when it finally stops, I gasp, “D-Donna?” But again, it’s not her. It’s her answering machine, and my heart drops. I hang my head, listening to her recorded voice.

“Hi, you’ve reached Donna Dixon. Sorry I can’t take your call right now but leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

_Beep._

“Donna…Baby, it’s Paul.” My mind goes blank when I see that same Polaroid on the floor from before, and I forget what I was going to say. I wanna be twenty three years old again, when I was Ace's baby and he was mine.

Now look at me.

“Um…I stopped by earlier after some guy answered your phone…you weren’t there, but I have somethin’ to ask you…” I stare at myself in the photo, and I wonder if I’ll ever be that happy again. Yeah, it was with Ace, a _man_, but I was young and naive then…I didn’t care that it was wrong. Now, I realize I can only be with a woman, free from judgement and ridicule, and I’ll have to repress these impure desires for the rest of my life. It’s not fair that I’ve been cursed with this sexuality, but I’m afraid if I don’t do something about it, I’ll lose the one woman I've ever loved forever.

“I wanna spend the rest of my life with you.” I close my eyes and breathe, “Will you marry me?” Hanging up the phone, I lean back in my chair and try to catch up with my rapidly beating heart. I shouldn’t feel like I’ve betrayed Ace, but I do. I really do. Even though I broke off the relationship, I still feel like a dirty rat, breaking his heart and running off with someone else like he did with me six years ago. No matter how hard I try, I can’t get Ace out of my head. I think about him every second of every day, but he probably hasn’t given me a second thought, too busy drinking and drugging to care. Every song I hear reminds me of him, every movie I watch, every new piece of music I write. He doesn’t know I wrote ‘Danger’ about my unwanted and potentially jeopardous feelings for him, he doesn’t know ‘I Still Love You’ is me practically crying out to him, begging him not to leave and abandon me…He’ll _never_ know.

The phone rings, and I jump, startled by the loud noise.

_Oh my god…Is it Donna?_

I’m not prepared for her answer. I wasn’t expecting a call back so soon, and my heart starts up again, almost pounding out of my chest. I let the phone ring for a while before finally picking up, “…Hello?”

“Paul! It’s Eric!”

Of course it is. I’m disappointed, but also extremely relieved.

“Hey, Eric.” I slump down in my chair and twirl the phone cord around my finger. “What’s up?”

“Gene and I wanted to talk to you. We’re worried about you…and we have something to tell you…Ya wanna do something tomorrow?”

I really don’t, but I figure I need to get out of the apartment before I go crazy. Any more alone time and I don’t know what I’ll do. I bet Gene isn’t worried at all; Eric’s just saying that because he’s a nice person. Gene probably gave up on me _years_ ago.

“Sure.” I answer, monotone and uninterested. It’s not that I’m not grateful for him calling to check up on me; I’m just so tired.

“Great! Gene thought you’d say no…” He pauses, and I nod. Gene knows me well. “Be at his place at noon tomorrow…Take care, Paul.”

“Yeah...You, too.” I hang up, sitting in silence for a few minutes and listening to my stomach growl. I haven’t eaten since last night. I usually grab a salad for lunch, but today, I don’t bother getting anything to eat. Instead, I head for my bed and go to sleep, hoping I never wake up.


End file.
